


Smell Your Intentions

by redeyedwrath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Scents & Smells, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: "The worst thing about suddenly turning into a werewolf is Stiles’ asshole of an Alpha"Or, in which Stiles gets bitten instead of Scott and he can't figure out what the hell that smell is





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is another thing that's been in my drafts for a very long time? I'm finishing these up like _crazy_ , maybe I'll even post a longer fic soon ;)
> 
> Anyways, a few notes:
> 
>   * Stiles is a werewolf, Scott isn't
>   * Season 1 happened but we're glossing over that
>   * The info about scent marking in this is complete made up, but plot dammit!!!
>   * There's some - mostly off-screen - non-con kissing, but it's all for the greater good, I promise!
> 

> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The worst thing about suddenly turning into a werewolf is Stiles’ asshole of an Alpha. Stiles can deal with the teeth and the fur and the claws and the sudden urge to hump furniture, but his _Alpha_ is another deal entirely.

Scott makes fun of him for it, sometimes, the typical ‘ _Oh Stiles, if you’d just listened to me and gone to bed instead of go out into the woods in the middle of the night you wouldn’t be in this mess_ ,’ which is fair. If he _had_ listened to Scott, his life would’ve been a whole lot easier right now, but he hadn’t.

Which means that, after helping _Derek Hale_ – of all people – take down his psychotic uncle, _Derek Hale –_ of all freaking people – becomes his Alpha.

It’s not that the dude sucks at it or anything, but _sometimes_ Stiles really despises Derek’s life decisions. Mostly after Derek’s thrown him into a wall for the gazillionth time in the name of ‘self-defense’.

“Get back up, Stiles!” Derek yells. Stiles groans and rolls onto his back.

“Just give me a few minutes, dude! I’m _tired_.”

He hears Erica snicker from somewhere and he’d flip her off if he had the energy. Which he does. He just wants to piss of Derek, because not only is it extremely fun to watch Derek get angry, it’s also extremely _hot_.

He doesn’t even jump when Derek’s angry – and hot, Jesus Christ – face appears in his vision, obscuring his view of the cracked ceiling, which, _progress_.

“You’re a werewolf, Stiles. You don’t get tired.”

Stiles groans and arches his back, stretching his joints. Derek’s right; he doesn’t get tired. He does get aches though, especially if he’s _thrown against a wall by an Alpha_.

“But Derek,” he whines, drawing out the vowels. “Can’t we just take a break?”

He tries to channel his inner Scott McCall and do the puppy eyes thing – why didn’t Scott become the werewolf again? Oh right, because he wasn’t a giant freaking idiot – and he smirks when he sees Derek’s expression falter.

He stretches again, ready to get back up before he freezes.

His nose twitches involuntarily. He doesn’t know _what that smell is_ , but god, does he want to. It’s like Derek’s natural scent, just five thousand times better and _oh my god_.

“What is that?” he asks, frowning. Erica snickers again and this time he does flip her off. She just winks at him. God, he needs new friends.

“It’s nothing, Stiles. Now get back up and charge at Boyd.”

“Ugh, fine.”

He dusts his hands on his pants as he stands up, determinedly not looking at Derek, because Derek’s an asshole. A hot asshole, but an asshole nonetheless.

-

“Dude, you look like shit. I didn’t even know werewolves _could_ look like shit.”

Stiles glares at him. “Yes, Scott, please loudly talk about the existence of the supernatural where everyone can hear you. It’s one of the best ideas you’ve ever had, including – but not limited to – the one time we pranked Coach and the time you decided not to go into the woods with me.”

“Sorry, bro,” Scott says. At least he has the decency to look sheepish. Stiles just rolls his eyes and rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s fine. Derek went a little hard on us yesterday.”

He opens his locker – careful not to throw the door back too hard, he’d learned that the hard way – and he wrinkles his nose when the smell of _teenagersweat_ hits his nose. Damn, he should probably wash his Lacrosse outfit more often.

“Oh!” Scott says, eyes lighting up. “Is that why Erica, Isaac and Boyd are so grumpy today?”

“Oh my god, give this guy a Nobel Prize,” he mutters, grabbing his US History book and closing his locker. He turns around to face Scott and he freezes when he sees the frown on his face.

“Okay, seriously dude, what’s the matter with you?”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s,” he stops, running a hand over his face and there _it_ is again. “There’s this smell, and it’s _distracting me_ and it’s somewhere on my clothes but I have no idea how it got there.”

“Maybe you need to do laundry more often.”

“Very funny,” he bares his teeth in parody of a smile. Scott elbows him in the side. “Seriously though, it’s like, uh, sweet? And tangy, I guess. It kind of smells like Derek, so I guess it’s from Derek, but how did Derek’s smell get in my clothes?”

Scott’s face scrunches up, his smell turning from happy – which is regular Scott – to disgust and Stiles just – he _can’t_.

“Okay, I know what you’re thinking and _no_. The guy’s my Alpha. Also, he’s an asshole.”

Scott laughs and a few people look at them as they walk down the hall. Whatever, nothing he isn’t used. All the magical makeover powers the bite gave Isaac and Erica apparently didn’t transfer to Stiles.

“I mean,” Scott says, stupid grin on his face. Stiles doesn’t trust him. “You always did like the assholes.”

“I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day,” he grumbles and stalks away, Scott’s laughter following him through the hall.

“Whatever, man,” Scott says. “You’ll totally be talking to me in our next class.”

Damn, he hates it when Scott’s right.

-

“Scott,” he hisses. “Stop looking at Allison.”

“Sorry,” Scott says, cheeks flushed as he turns his gaze back to Stiles, his heartbeat quieting down. Stiles rolls his eyes and turns back to his notebook, doodling in the lines. Sometimes, Scott’s crush on Allison is really distracting. And by sometimes, he means 24/7.

Finstock’s rambling on about the stock market and Stiles is tuning him out, listening for something interesting outside. There’s two women arguing about whole milk versus skimmed milk and someone rambling on about their crush and Stiles is about to listen in on some juicy details when Erica’s voice cuts through the haze.

“You’re kind of grumpy today, Stilinski. What happened?”

He rolls his eyes. “You mean apart from Derek beating me to shit?”

She laughs quietly and he sighs when he hears Isaac join in. He definitely needs new friends, Jesus Christ. Too bad he’s stuck with them for – approximately – the rest of eternity.

“Derek always seems to go for you, doesn’t he?” Isaac muses.

“Congrats, you figured it out. Got anything useful to add, Lahey?”

“No,” Isaac says. “See you at lunch.”

“What makes you think I’ll sit with you guys?”

“Of course you will; we’re Pack.”

Stiles huffs and doodles three wolves in the lines of his notebook; one with curly hair, one with long hair and one with dark eyebrows. Then he grabs his red pen and violently crosses them out.

“Stilinski!” Coach shouts and Stiles drops his pen in shock. “If you’re done molesting your notebook, can you please explain risk and reward?”

“Sure thing, Coach,” he says and tries to tune out Erica’s snickers. Goddamn werewolf senses aren’t even doing him any good.

-

Stiles still turns up for Lacrosse practice, and even though his super wolf powers have granted him the gift of _stamina_ , he still can’t play Lacrosse for shit. Nice to know that’s purely him. Stiles Stilinski, Giant Failure.

He’s pretty sure he never had to run _this much_ during Lacrosse practice though.

“Come on,” he whines, panting. “We’ve passed this tree like, five times already.”

“Keep running, Stiles.”

He sighs, wiping the sweat off his forehead and trying not to trip over any roots. He gets why Derek runs around shirtless all the time now; if he runs _this much_ Stiles would prefer to be shirtless too. Not that he’s going to take of his shirt anytime soon. If he’s ever going to be shirtless in Derek Hale’s presence it’s going to be in the vicinity of a bed.

“Do you enjoy watching me suffer?” he whines again, watching as Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles would flip him off if it wouldn’t earn him a too-close-for-comfort encounter with a tree.

“You know it’s easier to run if you just stop talking, right?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and tries his best not to tackle Derek to the ground, but he makes it so _hard_ sometimes, with the snark and the general shirtlessness – double entendre intended.

“You know I never stop talking, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Derek mutters under his breath as he changes his pace. Stiles scrambles to keep up with him – he can practically _feel_ the smugness radiating off Derek. Bastard.

“Hey, I heard that!”

“Good,” Derek grins. Stiles almost trips over his own feet. “At least some of your senses work correctly.”

Stiles glares at him. “I resent that!”

Derek snorts – an actual _snort_ , who’s this guy and what has he done with Derek? – and turns to look at Stiles, who’s probably red in the face. He hopes Derek will just assume it’s from exertion and not because he’s snarking with Derek freaking Hale.

“You didn’t deny it.”

“Whatever, man,” Stiles mumbles. Being in Derek’s general vicinity sometimes makes his upstairs brain stop working. His downstairs brain gets more than enough exercise though, and Stiles thanks God every day for creating baggy sweatpants.

He sighs, keeping pace with Derek. He’s probably projecting so hard right now, he must be like an open freaking book to Derek. Werewolves are supposed to be able to smell arousal so Derek _has_ to know. Not that Stiles knows how to smell arousal, Derek’s too busy training them in the art of Werewolf Fu to teach them how to identify scents.

Which – if they’re on the subject – is really stupid and Derek should really get on that. Damn.

“See? We’re already done,” Derek says when they round a corner, voice placating, and Stiles could cry with relief. He didn’t know werewolves could get muscle aches, but apparently they can and it fucking sucks.

“Praise the lord,” he moans. Derek probably rolls his eyes, because he’s _Derek_ , but whatever. Stiles is used to it by now. When Derek isn’t making Stiles’ life miserable by forcing him to work out, their interactions mostly consist of raised eyebrows, rolling eyes and snarking.

It’s actually pretty fun, but Derek doesn’t need to know that.

Derek lives in an actual house nowadays. It took Stiles three weeks to pester him out of the train depot and into a estate agent’s office, but dear lord, is Stiles glad he did. Not that the train depot wasn’t an upgrade from the charred remains of the Hale House, but a _train depot_? Really?

At least Derek listened to more of Stiles’ wise proclamations, because not only does he have proper furniture, he has things like throw pillows and hand towels. The latter being really helpful when Stiles needs to brush sweat off his forehead.

“That’s a hand towel,” Derek says. “It’s for your hands.”

Stiles resists the urge to stick his tongue out at Derek and continues mopping up the gallons of sweat. Dear Jesus, just how much did they run?

“It’s a hand _towel_ , Derek. _Towel_.”

He rubs it over his face again – maybe a few more times than necessary out of spite – when it hits him again. That scent. The one he smelled two days ago when they were sparring. The one that actually makes Stiles want to hump furniture because _oh my god_. His head shoots up to find the source, but it’s already fading away.

“Just throw it in the laundry basket when you’re done defiling it,” Derek says from the living room probably, and Stiles listens to him walk up the stairs like a creeper, cataloguing the cadence of his steps. Like Alpha, like Beta, he guesses.

“I can’t believe you have a laundry basket nowadays.”

“Just do it, Stiles,” Derek says. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Fine.”

-

“Have you guys noticed anything weird lately?” Stiles asks as he sits down next to Erica at the designated Werewolf Lunch Table.

“Apart from your face?” Isaac says, angelic smile and everything. Stiles wonders how someone so cherubic can be so freaking annoying sometimes. If he wouldn’t get detention for it he’d slam Isaac’s head into the table. Softly. Because Stiles is a sucker.

“Ha, hilarious.” He kicks Isaac under the table, putting some of that Special Werewolf Power behind it. Sometimes Derek’s training helps. “No, you asswipe, I’m talking about _smells_.”

“I mean, Scott absolutely reeks of Argent, but that’s pretty much it.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose, because now that Isaac’s said it, he can’t _unsmell_. It was bad enough to hear Scott talk about getting laid, let alone smelling the evidence of it. Sometimes, he wonders if Scott really isn’t a werewolf because both he and Allison reek of exchanged bodily fluids.

“Erica?” he asks, but he might’ve forgotten that Erica is a vixen too because she just smirks and takes a _ferocious_ – that’s really the only word for it – bite out of her apple.

 “Can’t help you there.”

Stiles facepalms – facetables, whatever – careful not to dent the metal. He’d learned that the hard way; he had to pay thirty bucks the last time he did this. Freaking werewolf strength. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

“I think I might be going insane,” he moans, not even bothering to lift his head. Erica and Isaac will hear it regardless. Erica pats his shoulder and he leans into the touch.

“Honey, you’re a werewolf. You can’t go insane.”

“Tell that to Peter Hale.”

He feels both Erica and Isaac tense. “Fair point, actually.”

“And what are you guys talking about?” someone – flowery, _Lydia_ – says from behind him and he jolts up. He might not be in love with her anymore, but noticing – or stalking, as Scott liked to call it – isn’t anything that’s going to go away soon.

“Uh, how beautiful yet utterly terrifying you are?”

Lydia gives him a smile – an _actual_ smile, if this were three months ago he would’ve had a heart attack – and hands him a bunch of papers.

“Good, because I just translated some more of the bestiary and I’m presuming you want me to give it to you.”

“All hail Lydia Martin.”

Erica snickers – oh my god, that’s turning into a really annoying habit of hers – and Stiles retaliates by elbowing her. She’s never had the full Lydia Martin Experience, there’s no way she can understand what he’s talking about.

-

It takes him another two weeks to bring it up with Derek. He’s already bothered Isaac, Erica and _Boyd_ to death with it and after that thousandth threat of dismemberment he’d decided to ask Derek. Though that will probably end in dismemberment too, shit, he didn’t really think this through.

They’re standing in Derek’s kitchen, waiting for the coffee machine to finish stuttering, when Stiles takes a deep breath in, then out. Derek glances at him, eyebrows heavy, and Stiles does it again just to stall.

“So, Derek. Can I ask you a question?”

The line of Derek’s shoulders tenses imperceptibly, but Stiles immediately zeroes in on it. It has something to do with Derek, it _has_ to; it carries the dark undertones of _AlphaDerek_ and that’s part of what’s driving Stiles insane. Derek’s natural scent is good, _perfect_ , even, but this is better.

“If this is about the sudden absence of my throw pillows, then no.”

Stiles glances over to the couch and there’s indeed a suspicious lack of throw pillows. Goddammit, Stiles knows Derek is the Big Bad Alpha and everything, but this still really pisses him off.

“I promise it’s not about the throw pillows, even though I am really upset about that, just for your information.”

“What do you want,” Derek says, eyebrows raised and arms crossed and _damn_ , Stiles is really getting the full treatment today, isn’t he?

“Well, see,” he starts, trying not to let his heart rate change too much because biceps. “There’s this really distracting scent that keeps popping up at random times and I don’t know where it’s coming from? It’s sort of soaked into my clothes too, and it’s not like it’s a bad-distracting smell, it’s _good_ , but it’s still distracting.”

“I don’t know about any scents. Go home, Stiles.”

Derek runs up the stairs in the blink of an eye. If Stiles weren’t so fucking annoyed with him right now – his Alpha is _lying_ , goddammit – he’d make a dog joke.

Then again, that’d be very hypocritical.

-

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to smell _that scent_ again. In fact, it’s only another day before he catches a whiff of it during training and he’s so distracted that Isaac almost claws him in the stomach.

“Do you guys _really_ not smell anything?” he yells, narrowly jumping out of Isaac’s reach. Christ, this is going _way too far_. “ _Really_? ‘Cause it feels like it’s right around here somewhere and it’s actually driving me insane.”

He hears Derek huff from across the room, which, _rude_. Stiles just almost lost some blood over a freaking scent, and no one is helping figure it out, Derek included. He’s lost the ‘huffing’ rights.

“Stiles, shut up,” Derek says and Stiles really, _really_ has to try not to claw Derek’s face off because that scent is still here and Derek is the only born wolf here and _oh my god_.

“Only if someone helps me figure out what _that freaking scent is_!”

“Shut. Up,” Derek grits out, eyebrows heavy and eyes dark. Stiles swallows and bites back a snarky remark because he doesn’t think it’ll help it case much. By which he means at all, because Derek is the most sour wolf ever.

“Fine, fine…”

He focuses back on Isaac, tries to predict his moves, and he’s _just_ getting into it when there’s more of _that smell_ and Erica’s gleeful shout of, “Oh my god. _Oh my god_ , is that what I think it is?”

“Erica…” Derek starts, but like _hell_ Stiles is going to let Derek stop him from finding out what’s happening because he freaking deserves to know, okay?

“No, no, let’s tell Stiles what it is!” he says, and he starts to get up to stop Derek from stopping Erica, but Derek is faster and he pushes Stiles back, large hand on his chest. Usually, Stiles would savor an interaction like this, but he’s too busy trying not to fall on his ass.

“Stiles, shut up or get out. Erica, come with me.”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” he asks. Boyd shrugs – which, thanks. Helpful. Isaac suddenly smells a little sour, like milk or something, and Stiles narrows his eyes because that’s fishy as shit.

“Isaac Lahey,” he starts, advancing on Isaac. “You better tell me right now or-”

“Stiles, get off Isaac,” Derek says, and _fuck_ , he was just about to find out what that freaking scent was. Freaking Derek and his freaking Alpha powers.

“Whatever, I’ll find out eventually,” he mumbles. Erica snorts – again, what the hell – and Stiles has enough dignity left to ignore. Just enough.

“Don’t count on it,” Derek says, glaring. “Twenty more laps around the preserve, Stiles.”

Oh my god, Stiles is actually going to die, isn’t he? It kind of figures; he turns into an all-around harder to kill being, and then he dies from exhaustion.

“Ugh, fuck you, Derek,” he mumbles, which, probably not the smartest idea considering Derek is a freaking Alpha werewolf and can hear everything Stiles says as long as he in a fifteen mile ratio.

“Thirty!” Derek yells and damn, Stiles has never heard him this gleeful before. Bastard.

“Going, going.”

-

By the time Stiles gets back it’s already dark. Not that that matters; he _knew_ there were some benefits to being a werewolf. At least he didn’t trip more than usual, and by that he means more than twenty times.

He’s expecting everyone to be gone – pack meetings don’t really last _that_ long – but he can hear the cadence of Erica’s voice and the rumble of Derek’s. Shit, he was kind of looking forward to being alone with Derek.

“Erica, I-” Derek says, and Stiles can see the back of his head. He’s standing at the back door, looking at them like some creeper and he watches as Erica stalks forward, a smile on her face as she tangles her fingers in his hair and kisses him.

Derek’s hands fly to her hipbones and Stiles feels like he’s going to be sick, stomach rolling. Derek pulls back, resting his forehead against Erica’s.

“Erica,” Derek says, voice quiet and Stiles clenches his hands, tries not to cry. He knew Derek would never reciprocate whatever it is that’s between them, but this feels like the final nail in the coffin.

He’s about to back away – because no matter how much his heart aches it’s none of his business – when he trips. Both their eyes snap to his, Derek’s glowing red. Erica is smirking and looking at him like she _knows_ and Stiles can’t – he _can’t_.

“Sorry for, uh, interrupting whatever this was. I’ll go.”

He runs away, leaves his car there because he’ll be faster on foot. Derek calls his name, but Stiles doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to see Derek, not right now.

He falls asleep that night with tear tracks on his face and blood under his fingernails.

-

“Bro, you’re worrying me. What’s up?”

He moans and shoves his head further into the pillow. Scott should leave, should just go. Stiles doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

“Seriously man,” Scott says, and Stiles feels the mattress dip down as Scott’s hand wipes over the back of his neck. “Tell me.”

He tries to say ‘ _Derek kissed Erica_ ,” he really does, but the stuffing gets stuck in his mouth and it just comes out like a groan, which, to be fair, is an accurate representation of how Stiles feels.

“Dude, I’m not a werewolf, I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

Stiles groans and turns around, shielding his eyes from the influx of light. “Derek kissed Erica.”

Scott makes a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of his throat and Stiles smiles a little.

“Want to kill some zombies?” Scott asks when they’ve been quiet for a while. Stiles nods and smiles when Scott hands him a controller. It’s times like these when Stiles is reminded why they’re best friends.

-

“You realize I know you're sitting on my roof, right?”

If this were a few months, or even a few weeks ago, Stiles wouldn't have commented on it. He probably wouldn't even have acknowledged Derek's creeper tendencies at all, but it's four in the morning and this is the fifth time in the past three days he's heard the soft footsteps on his roof and he's getting pretty god damn tired of it.

He doesn't flinch when Derek comes in through the window, doesn't look up when the smell of pines and smoke barrels through him even though he desperately wants to. Instead, he tightens his grip on the pen until it creaks in protest and keeps copying info from his laptop.

“What do you want?” he asks after a while, when Derek hasn't done anything but breathe and being distracting with _that fucking scent_. Stiles mentally fist bumps himself when his voice doesn't break.

“You're getting good at this,” Derek says in lieu of a response, voice surprised and Stiles has _had it._ The pen between his fingers snaps as he whirls around to face Derek, heart beating loudly in his chest.

“Come into my room to fucking insult me, why don't you? Please come back when you have something useful to say for a change.” He bites with more venom than he meant to and he wishes he could take the words back, his stomach turning.

The look on Derek's face flits between surprise and anger before he starts growling, eyes bleeding red. Stiles can feel his head tipping back but he catches himself and forces himself to look right into Derek's glowing eyes, a thrill of _wrong_ coursing through him.

His body is begging him to submit, the wolf whining and clawing at his stomach, begging him to show Derek his neck and bare his stomach and he drives his claws into his palms to anchor himself. He _isn't_ just a wolf and he _will not_ submit to an infuriating asshole.

“I’m not here to insult you,” Derek says, voice soft as his eyes flit down to his shoes.

It's quiet after that, apart from Derek's steady heartbeat and Stiles’ own rapid one, because that – he hadn’t expected that, not really. Sure, Derek’s his Alpha, but he’s usually not like _this_.

“I was checking in,” Derek continues. “Just to see if you’re okay. I can’t help it.”

He feels his stomach flip with guilt – he hasn’t been to a pack get together in a few days now, despite the tugging inside of _packpackpackpack_. He knows he overreacted, knows he shouldn’t blame Derek for kissing Erica because Stiles doesn’t have a claim on him, no matter how much he wants to.

Still, there’s a part of him that feels betrayed anyways.

“It’s fine,” he says, sitting down in his desk chair. It squeaks under his weight and he runs a hand over his face. “Sorry for not coming over the past few days. I had some,” he waves his hand around, “things to deal with.”

“Okay,” Derek says, quickly, _too_ quickly and Stiles hears his heartbeat speed up for a second. “It’s okay, just – please come back? I – _we_ miss you.”

Another blip in his heartbeat. Stiles narrows his eyes, opening his mouth to interrogate Derek, but he stops when he sees how miserable Derek looks, face pale and gaunt.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come back. I missed you too.”

He shivers when there’s another burst of _that scent_ again and he resists the urge to bury his face in Derek’s neck and afterwards kiss him to death. He doesn’t know what the hell’s going on, but if he could keep that scent with him forever then he could die a happy death.

“Good,” Derek says, voice hoarse as he brushes two fingers over the skin of Stiles’ throat. Stiles swallows, and tilts his head back. There’s another onslaught of _that scent_ , but before Stiles can jump up, Derek’s already gone.

He falls asleep surrounded by the smell of Derek.

(And his own spunk. Maybe.)

-

Of course, the first thing Derek makes him do when he comes to the next pack meeting is run, because Derek lives to make his life as difficult as possible, a cause that is aided by the fact that Derek isn’t wearing a shirt. Again.

“If I’d known coming back meant _torture_ I’d have stayed away,” he mutters. He isn’t sure if by torture he means _Derek_ or _running_. Maybe a combination of both, because Stiles feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin with nerves and exertion.

“Less complaining, more running,” Derek says and he pushes at Stiles’ shoulder to get him running. Stiles is tempted to whine – just because he can – but he gets distracted by watching the muscles in Derek’s back move.

“Easy for you to say.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t know what Stiles is talking about and Stiles almost snorts.

“You’re the one who’s built like a brick shithouse,” he semi-yells, waving his hands in Derek’s general vicinity, because _honestly_ , has Derek ever looked in a mirror? He looks like a Greek statue.

Derek’s mouth snaps shut and he turns his head back to the road ahead of them. Stiles’ stomach sinks, and he’s about to apologize when he notices the pink tint of Derek’s ears and the _embarassmentflattery_ wafting off Derek. He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from cooing.

They arrive at Derek’s apartment in comfortable silence. The fabric of Derek’s tank top rustles as he moves, and Stiles’ heart is beating way too loudly, but it makes Stiles feel serene in a way he hasn’t since he got bitten.

“Yup, definitely regret coming back, holy shit,” he pants, resting his hands on his knees. He hears Derek inhale sharply, but when he turns around, Derek’s already walking towards the house. He stops at the door, fingers curled around the doorpost. It makes him look surprisingly fragile.

 “I’m glad you’re back,” Derek says, so soft that if Stiles had been human, he wouldn’t have heard. He does though, and he smiles, heart stuttering in his chest.

Derek smiles back.

-

Stiles chokes on his peas when Lydia tells him. Isaac pounds him on the back, hard enough that Stiles can feel the healing factor kick in. He glares before turning back to where Lydia is sitting, looking as untouched as ever, because _what_.

“You,” he says, gulping down some more water before continuing. Lydia’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “You and _Erica_?”

“Why not?” she says, looking down at her perfectly-manicured nails. Stiles takes a moment to stare at her – because _Erica_ – before he shrugs and goes back to eating the gross cafeteria food.

“I mean, uh, congrats?”

Lydia huffs and turns to fully look at him, swinging her legs over the bench. Stiles glances up at her. The small smile on her face isn’t what he expected to see and he looks at her a little longer. Never would he have thought that Lydia Martin would be telling him she’d have a girlfriend and then smile at him.

“Thanks, Stiles.”

Isaac snorts. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice. She absolutely _reeks_ of Erica.”

“Excuse me for not knowing what arousal smells like, Jesus,” he mumbles, and shoves his food away. He isn’t that hungry anymore anyways. He hears Lydia’s sharp intake of breath and glances up at her. “What? What’s going on?”

“Oh my god, I’m leaving,” Isaac mumbles and he motions for Boyd to follow him. Stiles can only stare open-mouthed at them, because what the hell, _traitors_. He’s going to freaking tear them apart.

“Stiles,” she says, wicked smile on her face and that’s definitely Erica’s influence, Jesus. “I’m going to teach you Werewolf 101.”

Which, _rude_. Out of the two of them, Stiles is the werewolf, plus he’s probably done more research on the topic than Lydia. Not that Lydia isn’t a genius, because she is, but he likes to think he’s a bit of an expert on _himself_.

“I _am_ a werewolf,” he says, mashing a few peas with his fork. He kind of wants to stab himself it, if he’s honest.

“But what do you know about mating habits?” Stiles opens his mouth but Lydia is two moves ahead of him and motions for him to stay quiet. “I don’t want to know, Stilinski. What do you know about mating habits, and specifically, the role _scent_ plays in it?”

“Well, I mean, scent marking right? It’s like marking your territory.”

“At least you’re not a complete idiot,” Lydia mutters and Stiles tries to interrupt her again but she glares him back into silence. “And what _form_ of the natural scent is used in scent marking?”

“The, uh,” he says, waving his hand around and trying not to blush. Judging by Lydia’s flat stare, he’s probably failing horribly at it. “The scent you emit when you’re aroused.”

Lydia’s answering smile is brilliant, and if Stiles had still been in love with her his would’ve skipped a beat. “Correct. Now what scent have you been smelling lately and _whose is it_?”

Derek. The scent is _Derek’s_ and Stiles has been smelling it lately because – because… Oh my god, Derek is an asshole and Stiles is going to murder him with his mouth _oh my god_.

“Lydia Martin, you’re a genius and I love you.”

He hears Erica and Isaac woop from somewhere, but he’s too busy running out of the school because _Derek_. Derek has been scent marking him and Stiles thought this whole bullshit was unrequited and oh my god he’s going to die.

-

It’s silent for a few more seconds, apart from the frantic beating of his heart and Derek’s, and now that Stiles knows what that scent is he can’t _unsmell_ it. It’s everywhere, in his pores, his clothes, his hair.

Derek jumps down the staircase – because he’s a melodramatic asshole – and there’s a new influx of that smell, mixed with Derek’s natural scent and Stiles’ eyes almost roll back into his head because _oh my god_.

“What do you want, Stiles ~~.~~ ,” Derek bites out, glaring at something over Stiles’ shoulder, but Stiles really can’t bring himself to care about Derek’s emotional constipation right now.

“What I want is for you to sit down and be honest with me.”

Derek glances at him then, just for a second, before he looks away again and Stiles is _so done with this, goddammit._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you don’t! How about the thing I’ve been talking about for weeks, y’know, that freaking scent that I’m smelling _right now_.”

Derek just stares at him, mouth wide open and eyebrows raised. “I-”

“You were scent marking me without telling me and you thought I’d never find out? Do you know how _incredibly frustrating that is_? I’ve been out of my mind for weeks, Derek, _weeks_ , because that scent was so good and distracting and I wanted to know _so bad_ where it was coming from and it turns out to be you?!”

“Stiles, I’m sorry-”

“No, you don’t get to talk. Because you know what? Knowing you, you’ll probably try to brush this off as an accident and that’s what I don’t want because I’ve been panting after you since I turned into a wolf and I swear to God, if you’re going to invalidate everything that’s been happening, I will-”

Stiles shuts up when Derek fists his hands in Stiles’ sweater and kisses him.

Stiles’ eyes slide shut, the only thing his brain is able to focus on is the warm press of Derek’s lips against his, the swipe of Derek’s tongue in his mouth, the groans Derek is making and he tangles his fingers in Derek’s hair, pulls him closer.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles against Derek’s lips. “ _Oh my god_.”

“Stiles, I really-” Derek starts, and Stiles kisses him again to shut him up.

“What did I say about the talking, oh my god.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but kisses him again anyways, softly, like he’s afraid Stiles is going to leave. Stiles would huff, only his mouth is preoccupied and instead he moves his hands to the nape of Derek’s neck.

“Are you-” Derek chokes out, voice rough and broken and _oh my god, Stiles did that._

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not going to let me reciprocate? Really?”

“I was going to give you permission,” Derek huffs, but he tilts his head anyway. Stiles rolls his eyes and brushes his thumbs over Derek’s pulse point.

Like he said, his Alpha is an _asshole_.

**Author's Note:**

> What an emotional rollercoaster... Damn dudes, this took me so long to finish and I really _really_ hope y'all like it aaaaaaah...
> 
> (Also I do have longer stuff coming I promise)
> 
> Anyways, please lemme know what you thought? I'll sacrifice my sister to Satan for your feedback! 
> 
> [Yo I have a Tumblr where you can see me be gay and stuff!](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


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